


Reunited

by Twinklingbright



Series: The Unfairness of Life [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Drinking to Cope, Evil Dumbledore, Flashbacks, Manipulative Dumbledore, Memory Charms, Memory Loss, Molly Weasley Bashing, Nightmares, POV Alternating, POV Molly Weasley, POV Original Character, POV Sirius Black, Panic Attacks, References to Depression, Sad Sirius Black, Swearing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-13
Updated: 2018-11-10
Packaged: 2018-11-13 19:18:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11191668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Twinklingbright/pseuds/Twinklingbright
Summary: After Voldemort’s return the Order of the Phoenix reforms and old secrets come to light.





	1. Chapter 1

“It… er… it could be worse”  
“Yeah, sure. Tell me how, Moony, will you?”  
“Well… it’s unplottable, so you’re completely safe here”  
“FILTH! SCUM! BY-PRODUCTS OF DIRT AND VILENESS! HALF-BREEDS, TRAITORS, FREAKS, BEGONE FROM THIS PLACE! HOW DARE YOU BEFOUL THE HOUSE OF MY FATHERS- !”  
“You were saying?”  
“Nothing, forget it, sorry!”


	2. Chapter 2

Molly Weasley checked the lock one more time and took a deep breath. They were all packed, ready and eager to spend the summer at the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix, but she still saw it as a betrayal. What if Percy decided to come back and didn’t find anyone? She was his mother, it was her job to always be there for him, no matter what happened, and now she was leaving. The mere thought brought tears to her eyes, but she couldn’t afford to show weakness. Not now. There was work to do and she had to be strong for all of them.

“Is everyone ready?” she asked, glancing around.

“Yes, mum!” was the slightly exasperated answer. In the last ten minutes she had asked the same question at least six times, always remembering she had forgotten to check something at the last second. Now, though, she took a deep breath, moved closer to the fireplace and took a handful of Floo Powder.

“Let’s go then. Remember, Grimmauld Place, Twelve. I’ll go first. Follow me in a minute. Arthur, make sure everyone’s there.”

“Of course, dear!” She stepped into the fireplace, threw the powder and said the address with her eyes closed. When she opened them again she was in a dusty, darkened kitchen. Two men were there, staring at her menacingly with their wands raised. She started to panic.

“Who are you?” one of the asked. He was tall and extremely thin, with long, matted black hair. He was frightening.

“M-m-molly Weasley” she stuttered.

“It’s alright Sirius, she’s Ron’s mother” said the other one, lowering his wand just a fraction. “Did Dumbledore send you?”

“Y-yes” she eventually managed. Sirius? Was that Sirius Black? How could Dumbledore send her whole family where a wanted mass murderer was hiding? The fire glowed green again, and Ron stumbled out of it. He looked around as his eyes adjusted to the dark and then brightened when he saw the two men.

“Sirius! Are you alright? Is Harry here too?”

“Wotcher Ron. And no, he isn’t. Dumbledore wants him to stay with the Muggles.” Sirius replied, voice turning bitter with regret.

“Hello Ron!” said the other man, and Molly was shocked to hear her son address him as Professor Lupin.

Slowly, the whole family arrived and they started looking around to find rooms and beds for everyone and worked to make them at least livable. Time passed quickly, and Molly’s fear at the thought of living with a mass murderer was suddenly replaced by pity when Lupin explained that he was, in fact, innocent. That man was so thin! How could someone spend twelve years in Azkaban without anyone even bothering to ask for a trial? She had known, of course, that he had been imprisoned. She still remembered the relief she had felt reading about it in the Daily Prophet as soon as he was arrested. And she, like everyone else, hadn’t stopped to think that the image she had of the funny boy joking with her brothers didn’t fit with what the article revealed. It had never occurred to her that he might be innocent and she had definitely never considered the effects a twelve-year stay in Azkaban may have.

So here he was, a haunted man, malnourished and looking exhausted. She tried to convince him to rest, pointing out that he had a godson to take care of, and there was no way he could do it if he was so knackered. She also tried to feed him properly, repeatedly pointing out his extreme thinness. The man, however, absolutely refused to lie down for a while as she had suggested, only ate a minuscule portion of her special fried chicken and spent the whole meal chewing bread instead. He didn’t even take a bite out of the butter cake she had managed to bake in the unused kitchen. He desperately needed to put on some weight, but how could he if he ate nothing?

And then, when she mentioned how late it was getting and told everyone that they had to go to bed he remained in the kitchen, wishing everyone a good night but not making the slightest attempt to move. He looked ready to pass out! Why didn’t he just give in and go to bed? Maybe he was just pretending not to be tired, like her children sometimes did. Or maybe he was waiting for an opportunity to talk to her. About his bad experience, perhaps? So she stayed in the kitchen, washing and scrubbing until everyone else had left, Lupin included, and then brought him a cup of tea and sat down next to him. He muttered a “thank you” but didn’t bother to take his eyes off the wall.

“Would you like to talk about it?” She asked sympathetically. He blinked and looked up.

“Excuse me?”


	3. Chapter 3

Sirius was tired. No, he was dog-tired, absolutely dead on his feet. And bored already. He had thought that having someone there, someone around Harry’s age, would make the house happier. Or at least less gloomy. A bit easier to live in regardless of the awful memories. Instead, the children’s mother had spent the whole day ordering them around, scolding the twins whenever they made a joke to lighten the mood, telling off anyone who dared to contradict her and, to make it worse, trying to mother him. _Him?!_ He had taken care of himself since he was a child, left his family for good when he was fifteen, survived twelve years in Azkaban and two on the run! And she thought she could just tell him to take a nap because he looked tired?! Still, he held his tongue. It wouldn’t do to antagonize her on her first day here. Moreover, Ron was adamant that she was an amazing cook, and enduring a bit of mothering didn’t seem too bad if the prize was a nourishing, filling meal.

When she finally called them for dinner he could hardly contain the drool at the mouthwatering scent of chicken. He had spent the last year living off rats and the occasional care package from Harry, after all. Even the soup Remus had prepared for him the previous night – when he had simply collapsed on his threshold after nearly two weeks of running around to inform former members of the Order of Voldemort’s return – hadn’t been enough to make the painful hunger pangs disappear. Then again, he doubted that was going to happen anytime soon…

Molly turned to him with a smile and put the chicken on the table. And by doing so she shattered all his hopes. Fried chicken. His stomach growled loudly and he was grateful for the mess everyone was making, as it covered the rumble. But he couldn’t eat it. Not when he knew that he would spend the whole night with a stomachache when he wasn’t throwing up. The few months he had spent away from England had taught him his body’s new limits, after all, and he knew that anything fried would end up doing more harm than good. So he took the smallest piece and picked at it, eating bread instead. And then, when he thought the torture was finally about to end, she placed a cake right in front of him. A butter cake. Same problem. Sighing, he reached for the jug of pumpkin juice and tried to stop his mouth from watering by drinking lots of juice.

After dinner, Molly sent everyone to bed and looked at him piercingly, as if expecting him to comply too. He didn’t, of course. He had no intention to spend the whole evening, in addition to the whole night, in his much hated room. Couldn’t she just leave him alone? He knew perfectly well he wouldn’t be able to fall asleep anyway and, even if by some miracle he did, he would wake up a few minutes later screaming and shivering from his nightmares. He did his best to ignore the glances she cast him every few seconds, but she didn’t seem to understand that he wanted to be left alone and even made him a cup of tea. And then, she said something.

“Excuse me?” he said. He really had to start paying attention if he wanted to get rid of her mothering. Her expression softened and he frowned. That was not good.

“I was wondering whether you wanted to talk about it.” He blinked a few times, trying to clear his mind. Was she really asking what he thought she was asking?

“It?”

“Something is bothering you. I have seven children, you know. I can tell when something’s wrong.” No, not good. Not good at all. What was he supposed to say to that? The urge to start screaming at her, saying exactly what was wrong with asking such a question to someone who had just gone through hell, was getting harder and harder to control, but he managed.

“I’m fine, thank you.” He muttered though clenched teeth. She smiled at him. Smiled!

“Of course you are, dear. But talking about it is going to help-“

“I’m going to bed. Good night, Molly!” he interrupted, barely restraining himself from snapping at her. _I’ll just wait for her to go to bed and then come back_ , he promised, glancing at the cabinet where his father used to store Firewhisky. _Yes, I’ll definitely come back._


	4. Chapter 4

The office was small, with two desks shoveled in a corner, a computer in the middle of one desk and tons of books, files and reports piled up precariously everywhere else. The walls were covered in photographs and maps, with thumbtacks carelessly pinned all over and annotations written in the margin with different colours. The small window was open, but the room still smelled stale and musty. A woman was sitting in one of the chairs, and her rhythmical tapping on the keyboard was the only sound in the room. Eventually, she heard footsteps coming up the stairs and glanced up at the clock.

“Bugger” she muttered, running her hand through her hair and stretching a bit as the door opened.

“Evening!” a man greeted her. He was in his mid-forties, plump, short, with brown hair and a scar on the right side of his face. She raised her hand in greeting while stifling a yawn. “George told me you solved another one?”

“Yup, the husband with the demanding job in London. Turns out he didn’t want to say that he was actually pretending to be a beggar and got all his money that way.” She replied, saving her half-finished report and switching off the computer. “Not very original, that one. There’s a Sherlock Holmes story that seems pretty similar….” The man chuckled.

“Well, you can’t expect everyone to be brilliant. Going home? You look pretty exhausted.” He asked, frowning at the bags under her eyes.

“Yeah, mind if I finish this tomorrow? I hadn’t realize how late it was.”

“No way, take tomorrow off and get some real rest, we can last a day alone.” She rolled her eyes, opening her mouth to protest but was interrupted “And don’t you dare saying you’re fine, because you bloody well aren’t. You’ve been working non-stop for the last two days”

“I am fine! Tired, obviously, but nothing a good night’s sleep can’t change” another yawn escaped her, and the man raised her eyebrows.

“Whatever, I don’t want to see you around tomorrow. You can take a new case and start reading up on it, if you want, but no real investigations, alright?” He replied, looking through the files for the right one. “Here, cold case- ish. About fourteen years ago a man killed his best friends and then blew up a whole street, killing another dozen people. Bomb, it says here, but he survived that without a scratch, so forgive me if I don’t believe it. He escaped from prison a couple of years ago and he is still on the run. Sirius Black, have you heard of him?”

_-“We didn’t even introduce ourselves! I’m Sirius!” a young boy with long, black hair and grey eyes bowed pompously to her-_

“Alice?”

“Yes, sorry. Yes, of course, he was all over the news a couple of years ago.”

“Exactly. Well, point is… there is close to nothing on his file and people are asking questions. Nobody even knows where he escaped from, and there doesn’t seem to be anyone that can answer that. So, your job… find out anything you can about him: family history, transcript of his trial, report of the time he spent in prison… you know the drill.” She nodded in understanding, leaning closer to take the file, but he continued “Just… be careful, I suspect there’s something big behind this, and I don’t want you to get in danger. Clear?”

“Yes, sir!” she saluted, smirking. He rolled his eyes.

“Go to sleep, smartass!” he shot back , giving her the file. She took it, wished him goodnight and left the office. Sleeping didn’t seem such a bad idea, after all.

It wasn’t sleepiness that was bothering her, though. Her memory had been a huge problem for the last fourteen years - what with waking up in a hospital with no idea who she was, what she was doing there and who might possibly know her – but recently she had been having even more flashes than usual. Like before… why on earth did she remember someone named Sirius introducing himself as soon as Paul mentioned Sirius Black? She had seen his photograph before, of course. It wasn’t everyday that a mass murderer managed to escape from prison. Thankfully. Still, neither name nor image had ever had any effect on her before, so what was different now? Of course, the flashes were never long or detailed enough to actually qualify as memories, and no matter how much she tried to put the pieces together, there was always something missing. Something necessary enough that every attempt to remember her past failed miserably.

Without realizing it, she had reached the small pub at the corner and took a deep breath to clear her mind before entering.

“Oh, Alice, finally! I thought you were sick! Here, your dinner’s ready!” a dark-haired girl greeted her.

“Ta. What would I do without you?” she smiled back.

“Starve, definitely!” replied the girl, chuckling. “Anyway, you’ll never guess who dropped by yesterday! John Parker! Do you remember him?”

“Erm… blond hair, dull eyes, never cracks a smile?” Alice asked, frowning. The girl rolled her eyes.

“Oh, come on! He’s one of the most handsome men out there, and he’s interested in you!”

“Sorry, not for me…”

“Then who is? Come on! Don’t you want to meet someone and get married? Start a family?” the girl inquired, looking genuinely curious.

_-“I wouldn’t want you to … you know … well … think about ours as well. Wedding, I mean” It was dark now, and cold. Oh, so impossibly cold. And the boy was the same one from before, but older. He looked immensely worried. “Are you angry?” he added after a short silence._

_“_ _Of course I’m bloody angry, you are an idiot! You spent the whole afternoon worrying, wasting a good opportunity to enjoy yourself - and Merlin knows how much you need it – just because you thought I would have expected you to propose too!” And that was her voice…_

_“_ _So you don’t want to get married?” The boy asked, frowning and with a hint of disappointment in his tone._

_“Not like that, you clot.” She smiled, taking his hand. ”I don’t know how to break this to you, but I’m not even of age and I’ll have to stay at school for another year and a half. Do you really think it would be a good idea to get married while I’m still at school?”-_

“Alice! Hey, Alice! Earth calls Alice!”

“Mm… oh, sorry, I … zoned out” mumbled Alice, squeezing her eyes shut and trying to concentrate. That was the longest flash she had ever had, and there was so much information she could take out of it… but now was definitely not the right time. Later, definitely later.

“I noticed. Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Don’t worry about me, really, I just need some proper rest. I’ll see you tomorrow. Thanks again for dinner!” She took the take-away bag with her dinner and hurried out, careful not to look too anxious.

Once home, she rigorously followed her routine: she had realized early on that it was one of the quickest ways to calm down. Shower, dinner watching the news, teeth and bed. Of course, it wasn’t exactly healthy to lie down and sleep so soon after dinner, but she knew her limits, and falling asleep standing up wasn’t much better. She definitely didn’t think of the boy in her flashes in the meantime. Not even once.

_-“There’s something I have to tell you” the boy - Sirius - announced._

_“_ _What is it?” she asked, looking up to see his expression creased with worry "_ _Are you okay?”_

_“_ _Yeah, ‘course. It’s not about me. It’s… well, Dumbledore, actually. Last night during my shift he mentioned something about being worried”_

_“_ _We all are” she replied, slightly questioning._

_“Worried about the order, I mean. He said he is pretty sure there is a spy among us” he whispered, looking around as if afraid to be overheard._

_“_ _A spy?” she whispered back “None of us would-“_

_"That’s exactly what I told him, but he brought up Birmingham and… well, it makes sense, doesn’t it? There was no way they could have known we were going to be there if nobody had told them. Hell, there were Death Eaters waiting in every corner, and Voldemort himself-“-_

She woke up gasping for air, heart thudding loudly in her chest. She was shivering, breathing too quickly and dizzy. Oh, shit. A panic attack. Slowly, she lowered herself on the floor, taking a deep breath and forcing herself to hold it. Curl up. Breathe slowly. Don’t think…

After what felt like ages she regained control of herself and started to sort out her newly-found memories. Of course she knew Sirius Black! They had been together for years before… what the hell had happened? Death Eaters, Voldemort, she remembered missions for the Order and then… nothing. She sighed loudly. _Calm down now! Think!_ And…oh, that was the big thing she had forgotten. She looked around, spotted the broken alarm clock she had never had the heart to throw away and willed it to work again. Warmth enveloped her and hundreds more memories returned, leaving her completely dazed. A soft tick-tock brought her out of her stupor and she breathed deeply.

“I am a witch” she murmured, remembering the day her Hogwarts letter had arrived. “Hogwarts!” She stood up quickly, putting on some clothes. There was only one person that could give her some answers. Some? That was an understatement! Why on earth had Sirius been incarcerated? Killing his best friends was definitely not something he would have done. And blowing up a street? That was so unlike him- Wait… his best friends? Remus, James, Peter, Lily? Were they dead? And Harry… how old was he when she last saw him? Two months? Three?

Another deep breath. _Dumbledore always knows everything, he’ll know the answers._ She thought, and disappeared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Sherlock Holmes story I mentioned is "The man with the twisted lip".


	5. Chapter 5

Molly sighed for what felt like the hundredth time. They had been in this house for ten days already, but it didn’t seem to be getting any cleaner. She knew that she couldn’t expect it to be spotless, of course. Years of neglect weren’t easy to erase, but she had hoped to make the main rooms habitable in a few days. Instead, the house-elf had absolutely refused to help and once she had even caught it scattering around dirt mounds. Telling Black hadn’t helped, of course. He seemed to be doing much worse these days, and after her first attempt to talk he had retreated even more into himself, so now he spent most of the day locked up in a room, pretending to feed the beast he had been living with during the last year. Buckbeak, was it? He was still not eating properly and spent the whole night walking around, if the creaks of the wooden stairs were anything to go by. Point was… he was definitely not helping, even if he was the owner of the house, apparently.

Moreover, the Order had started to meet regularly. People were constantly coming and going and it was her job to make sure there were always rooms and food ready in case someone decided to stay for a while. It was a relief to know there were quite a lot of people involved in the fight against You-Know-Who, of course, but that didn’t change the fact that most of her time was spent making sure everyone was fed and well-rested, and trying to keep her children from eavesdropping during the Order’s meetings. On top of all this, Fred and George were almost uncontrollable now that they were of age. And they were continuously demanding to join the Order, as if being allowed to use magic out of school automatically made them experienced fighters! The only one she was grateful for was Hermione Granger, who had arrived a few days before and helped to keep under control Ron and Ginny, at least.

The doorbell rang and screeches echoed up through the house. Black’s mother, again. She had wondered, during her first days in this place, what kind of childhood Black had had here, and then Alastor Moody had arrived, announcing his presence with a loud bellow. The woman in the portrait had started to yell accusingly at them, and she had soon realized what the atmosphere must have been like. As if the decapitated house-elves on the walls weren’t enough…

With a sigh she abandoned the half-chopped onion and hurried to the door. It wouldn’t do to have Black answer it, not when he wasn’t even pretending to be civil to the others. Anyway, he seemed to prefer screaming at his mother to shut her up than doing anything that required manners. Forcing a smile, she opened the door and was surprised to see a woman that looked familiar, even though she couldn’t quite place her. She looked extremely ordinary: not too tall nor too short, not extremely thin nor fat. She was probably in her thirties, with medium-length, wavy, light brown hair and intelligent blue eyes. She was wearing Muggle clothes, some sort of bluish trousers – did Muggles call them jeans? - and a grey shirt, short-sleeved and with something incomprehensible written in the middle. She looked nervous.

“Good morning. Did Dumbledore send you?” she asked, smiling reassuringly at her. The woman was looking over Molly’s shoulder, staring into the house with what could only be described as loathing. She coughed and the woman blinked a few times, took a deep breath and nodded.

“Good! Well, come in. Come in! I have just started making lunch. You’ll eat something, won’t you? There’s more than enough for all of us.” She let the woman in and closed the door. “Oh, I’m so sorry, dear. My name is Molly Weasley. How do you do?” she continued.

“I’m Al-“ She cleared her throat, shaking her head “Emma. Emma Whites. Pleasure.” The woman looked distracted, but she still offered her hand to Molly and smiled uncertainly. She was quickly scanning the room, as if waiting for something dangerous to appear at any second, or as if trying to notice any change that might have occurred. Definitely not as someone who had never been there before- Molly’s eyes widened as she looked at the woman. Properly looked. Emma Whites! Merlin’s pants! _That_ Emma Whites? The one who had simply disappeared one day? Her body had never been recovered, but everyone had simply assumed that she had been murdered. She had been an active member of the Order, far too young of course, but then everyone was back then. Some had suspected that she had been a traitor all along and passed over information to You-Know-Who in exchange for even more powers, but Molly could clearly remember Gideon telling off everyone that dared to mention those suspicions.

Still, after her disappearance things had degenerated quickly. Being able to do wandless magic was rare, and having someone with that gift on their side was an amazing secret weapon. Well, not so secret. Everyone knew her story, of course. So sad! But she had turned out all right, in the end. Or so everyone believed until her disappearance… And now, here she was.

The woman’s intake of breath made her look up, and she noticed that Black had come forward, dazed. Molly smiled. Oh, there were so many stories about the two of them! This could be a wonderful opportunity to see how many were actually true. If she was really who she said she was, of course. Maybe a little test to prove it… Wandless magic to clean the whole house? Keeping Black in check for a month?

“Well, I’ll leave you to it, then. Lunch is not going to fix itself!” she said, noticing with delight that neither of them was paying her the slightest attention. Grinning she returned to the kitchen and took out her wand. The twins weren’t the only ones that knew how to eavesdrop, after all.


	6. Chapter 6

The morning started as it always did. Kreacher let out a high-pitched, irritated noise at the sight of his master asleep in the kitchen, he woke up with a terrible headache, stumbled upstairs to his room in a drunken stupor and finally collapsed in bed, hoping for some more respite. Strangely enough, he actually fell asleep again. Long enough to get caught up in a nightmare, but definitely not enough to get any real rest. After the habitual panic and pain receded slightly, he tried to clear his mind with a shower and got ready for the day. A quick spell took care of the lingering smell of Firewhisky. It really wasn’t worth having Molly tell him off or pity him even more, and he still hadn’t managed to find a way to avoid her completely, so he would have to handle her scrutiny before being allowed to do anything.

Just as he was about to leave the room, however, the doorbell rang and he groaned. Why couldn’t they just come in already? He had told everyone not to ring the damn doorbell. Multiple times, in fact. Was he really so useless that every single word he said was deemed meaningless and forgotten? Sighing, he hurried downstairs. Molly would probably answer the door and leave him to deal with his screaming mother. He reminded himself that she had been a lot worse when alive, but it really wasn’t that much of a consolation. All he wanted was some peace and quiet, the opportunity to do something useful and take care of Harry and yet here he was, completely unable to leave the house no matter the reason. So no missions for the Order, no shifts when everyone else was pulling double, nothing.

Dumbledore had refused to even acknowledge that Harry might be protected better here, where he - wanted from the whole wizarding world - was supposed to be perfectly safe, and had simply claimed that he was almost fifteen now. One more summer was definitely not going to change anything. As if… Never mind, he wouldn’t stoop so low as to get out at night and kidnap his own godson when Voldemort was out there. That wouldn’t help anyone, least of all Harry. Still, he deserved better. He had just seen a friend being murdered in front of his eyes, after all. And if someone knew what a difference it made to have someone around to help you through it, someone who cared, that was him. Not that it mattered to anyone… Apparently, as long as you were physically out of danger you were supposed to also feel safe and happy.

When he finally managed to shut the old hag up, however, all his thought processes halted and he simply froze. _That voice! Merlin, that voice!_ He forced himself to breathe and shook his head. Yes, the morning had started as it always did, but he didn’t usually have hallucinations. Not for a while, at least. It had been rather difficult to tell what was actually happening and what was only in his mind when he first escaped, but it had gone slightly and slowly better. Now, though. Was he still too drunk to be able to tell what was real or had his mind simply, finally snapped?

Gingerly, he took a step towards the door. Someone had rung the bell, that much was certain. His mother’s portrait had started screaming, Molly had gone to answer the door and he had shut his mother up. So, the only thing he needed to do now was find out who was there. However, no matter how much he told himself it was the only logical way to proceed, his feet just weren’t cooperating. And his heart was beating faster and louder than ever.

And then, finally, he saw her. Emma, that was Emma. There was no doubt about it. Point was, he had seen her before. Multiple times, in fact. They knew each other well enough that he could predict exactly what she was going to say, and they had had a few very interesting and enervating conversations while he was in Azkaban. She was the one who kept giving him advice on how to escape, after all, and if he had managed in the end it was only thanks to her.

This, though, was different. Every time he saw her she was the same: unchanged, young, perfect, brilliant. The woman in front of him now was Emma, but changed. Her hair was shorter than it used to be, although the colour and waviness were definitely hers- down to the bits sticking out on her forehead. Her eyes were still clear and kind, but tired. And she was definitely holding herself differently. Older. Almost fifteen years older.

Sucking in a breath he stepped forward, still staring at her.

“They said you were dead” he whispered, but his voice broke anyway. She squeezed her eyes shut for a second and then opened them again, shaking her head.

“They say it’s impossible to escape from Azkaban, especially with your sanity intact” she whispered back. He simply gaped at her, unable to move or even think at the sight. He forced himself to, however. He had to. If this was actually a hallucination, he didn’t have much time before it disappeared, leaving him even more alone than he had been. And if it wasn’t- no, of course it was, it had to be.

“That would… require some sanity to begin with” He replied. He tried to give her a smile, but it wavered too much for it to be considered a successful attempt. She smiled back.

“My mistake” she said, inclining her head slightly to the side.

And now? What the hell was he supposed to do now? Pretend everything was fine? Stay still not to make her disappear? Ignore her because, no matter how much he wanted it to be true he knew it couldn’t be and it really wasn’t healthy to keep talking to a hallucination. He turned around, looking for Molly. Seeing her reaction could help him figure how just how much he was imagining. Maybe there actually was a woman in the hall, a new member of the Order perhaps, someone who slightly resembled Emma and would probably run away at her first chance after such a display of insanity.

He sighed, took a deep breath and tried not to think.

“Welcome to the headquarters of Order of the Phoenix” he said, voice dull and empty “It’s a pleasure to have you here. Please make yourself at home”. And with that, he simply turned around and left the woman there. There were other people in this house. They’d figure out what to tell her to make her stay and forget everything that had just happened.

As soon as he was out of sight he changed into Padfoot and hurried towards Buckbeak’s room. Nobody would dare bother him there, especially not someone who had just been mistaken for someone else. That way he could replay the whole episode in his head, examine every detail he had managed to pick up and try and figure out exactly why his mind was playing such uncalled-for and unusual tricks on him.


	7. Chapter 7

Emma couldn’t believe her eyes. Here he was, in front of her, with a blank expression and the voice he used when he was pretending to be polite. She had expected many things. She had gone through what she thought was every possible way the scene could play out. He was going to start screaming at her. He would just slam the door in her face. Or maybe start asking questions about everything that had happened to her. One of the options had been disbelief, obviously, but in each of the many sub options it always turned out that he was also angry, glad, relieved or furious to see her. She had just expected some kind of emotion. It didn’t matter what it was, they had all the time to work on that. But she had never expected him to just close off completely, expression blank and mind already somewhere else. She knew things were going to be different, of course. It would be stupid to think otherwise, but there was absolutely no way they would just see each other again and then go on as if it hadn’t happened. Not in her options, at least.

The door behind her opened and she turned around. Incredulous green eyes stared back at her, surrounded by a tired-looking face and brown hair with far too much grey. _Remus._ Not just Remus, though. An older version of Remus. With loneliness and misery etched on everything about him, from the carefully mended worn clothes to the slightly compulsive way in which his fingers itched at the visibly different scar on the base of his neck. Resigned to his fate and to unhappiness, unable to be surprised by anything, not anymore. Even now, disbelief and hope were clearly visible in his expression, but they were somewhat dulled, kept under control by a thick layer of resignation and pain. She took a deep breath.

 “You are not seeing things. I swear I’m not a ghost or someone’s cruel idea of a joke. I’m not here to hurt you, I didn’t betray anyone, I’m not and never have been on Voldemort’s side. Someone cast a memory charm on me. A powerful one. I started to remember things properly last night and went to Hogwarts as soon as I realized it existed. Dumbledore summed up everything that has happened and I’m here to rejoin the order and try to help, in any way I can. Please believe me, if I had had a choice I would never have left.” Oh, that had turned out surprisingly even, no panicky or shrilly words, no desperation, no begging for forgiveness. Surprisingly normal, all things considered. Remus shook himself at the sound of her voice, blinked rapidly and pinched himself.

“Emma?” he asked with a disbelieving whisper. She gave him a small smile.

“Yeah, it’s me. Hello Remus. How are you?” He gulped and his hand twitched. Emma took a step forward, held up her hand and noticed that it was shaking. Too late for that now. Remus’s eyes flickered to it and his twitching hand got up on its own accord. He frowned at it and then slowly, carefully moved it closer and touched it lightly, as if to make sure she was real. His eyes widened when he realized that she was, in fact, quite real. And alive. In front of him right now. The rest of his body followed his hand’s example and Emma found herself engulfed in a tight embrace.

She hugged him back, breathing him in. Memories long forgotten were coming back to her, swirling into her mind and leaving her light-headed but more whole than she had in years. A thirteen-year old Remus was playing wizard chess in the Gryffindor common room, grinning widely because he was winning. The book she’d wanted to read but couldn’t find anywhere hidden under her pillow as a birthday present. Days spent in the library pretending to do their homework while researching the most unusual charms and stories. And then the bad ones, of course. Mornings spent in the Infirmary hoping the deep wounds the wolf had made tearing himself apart wouldn’t scare. Missions for the Order gone wrong, and the fear of not knowing what was going to happen.

Time passed, but she really couldn’t tell how long they stayed there, Remus trying to accept that she was alive and she sorting out the memories, stocking them away for further organization. Eventually, Remus stiffened and made to move away, but didn’t let her go.

“Sirius?” he asked, voice hoarse and eyes wet. Emma sighed, shaking her head and realizing all of a sudden that she had started to cry sometime before. She cleared her throat.

“He was here just before you arrived. He thinks I’m a delusion brought on by- I don’t know actually. This awful place maybe, and all the memories it brings up?” she replied, looking at him as if expecting some sort of clarification. He sighed.

“That, and the Firewhisky.” She closed her eyes against the sudden flood of memories.

“Yes, that sounds about right. Not that I blame him. Dumbledore said he offered this place to the Order and seemed pretty pleased about it, but I don’t think he expected to be confined here, of all places. Not again.”

“No, but he can hardly be out on missions with everyone looking for him.”

“That’s just a stupid excuse and I thought you of all people would realize that. Seriously? That’s Padfoot we’re talking about, remember? Brilliant at hiding, amazing at Transfiguration, nearly gave McGonagall a heart attack when he managed to transfigure his whole face in James’s instead of slightly changing his nose? Do you really think he wouldn’t be able to find a disguise good enough not to be recognized?”

“It’s just… easier… to have him here. We can’t afford a mistake, not now and- well, Dumbledore thinks it’s safer if he helps put the house back in shape. Until he’s better, that is.” She sighed.

“How bad off is he, Moony?” she asked, rage turning into concern.

“He’s… coping” he murmured. She looked at him, a pained expression on her face.

“Did you try bringing it up?”

“Of course I did. It didn’t work, obviously-“

“How?” Remus looked away, embarrassed.

“I told him I was there to listen. And that it would probably help. That it was perfectly normal not to want to talk about anything, not to do anything. But that it was going to get better with time- You know, usual things. I mean- it’s my fault, so it’s not like I have any right to interfere.” Emma took a deep breath, closed her eyes for a moment and then let him go with a final squeeze.

“Remus… look at me. Blaming yourself is not going to help anyone, least of all Sirius. And definitely not you.” She said, staring at him with a soft expression. He lowered his head.

“I don’t deserve –“

“Stop that” she interrupted. “Please stop. You deserve far more than you think you do. I wasn’t there and I have no idea what it was like, but from what I gathered you both thought the other one was the traitor, right?” He nodded. “Do you still blame Sirius for thinking it was you?”

“NO! Merlin, no! How could you even think that? He spent twelve years in Azkaban-“

“That’s my point. He had far too much time to think of how big of a mistake he made by thinking it was you. And I’m sure he realized that he could never blame you for the exact same thing. Please Moony, just let it go. If you keep apologizing or thinking you ought to apologize for every single thing that happened in the meantime, you two are never going to be able to let it go. Please.”

“I’ll try.” He replied, not sounding convinced in the slightest.

“Thanks” she smiled, and then grimaced. “Now, I really think it’s time for me to go see him and bring it all up, yes? Please tell- erm… Molly, was it? Please tell her not to wait for us before serving lunch. I‘m pretty sure it’s going to take a while.”

“No. No, Emma, please. He’s already miserable enough as it is-“

“Exactly. He closed off completely, Remus. He thinks I’m some sort of hallucination! Someone has to do it, you know that. It’s going to get much worse if nobody does, and I can’t stand it” She turned to leave.

“Don’t bring up Dementors!” Remus begged, but she made no sign of having heard him.


End file.
